


Loathly

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: And Harry who is... different, Arthurian Legend AU, Except Zayn who is a minstrel, Fluff and Romance, M/M, knights and swords and magic and shit, they're all knights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1913466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“The birds told me.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> <i>There was a brief silence.</i></p><p> <i>“The birds.”</i></p><p> <i>“The birds,” Harry confirmed from beneath his red hood, “And the squirrels, but they’re all liars so I didn’t believe them.”</i></p><p> <i>“All squirrels are liars,” Louis repeated faintly.</i></p><p> <i>“Well, not all of them. Just most. It’s not nice to generalise.”</i><br/> </p><p>An Arthurian Legend/Faerie AU based on 'The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle', wherein Louis is a Knight of the Round Table and Harry is not what he seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loathly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luminescents](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminescents/gifts).



  
[♛⚔♛⚔♛](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-AzaN0GcEg)

 

"When this is over, I'm locking all three of you in your chambers and throwing the key into the garderobe."

Louis was dancing with Trouble, yet again.

His life seemed to be an endless series of tarantellas and jigs and waltzes and quadrilles with disaster, which, being the Crown Prince of Doncaster and a Knight in his uncle Arthur’s royal court besides, he should have been warned about at birth, quite frankly. He had tried to lead a normal life since being sent to Camelot, he really had.

Especially ever since the incident with the Green Knight whose he’d he chopped off, and who had then promptly stood up, picked up his severed head and challenged Louis to another duel...

And the time he accidentally-on-purpose lost that idiot Lancelot on a quest, only to find him unconscious on the back of a miller's cart...

Not to mention the time Lottie had come to court disguised as a boy, convinced Louis wouldn’t recognise her and hell-bent on becoming a knight…

Well, his endeavours for peace weren’t exactly successful, to say the least.

"You don't mean that, Liam," Niall insisted from his place at the rear of their party, snapping Louis out of his reverie. Liam turned in his saddle and shot him a withering look, which he then directed at Louis.

"What?"

Liam shook his head and turned back to the woodland path they were following without a word. Louis bit back a sigh.

One would think numerous exploits of heroism and bravery and adventure would at the very least earn him some deference. Though he suspected the other knights thought he was a spoiled, privileged upstart, Louis had worked hard to become Arthur’s First Knight. His comrades should, by rights, regard him with respect and deference.

And they probably would, if not for three reasons. One, Louis was Arthur's nephew, and as such, whispers of nepotism always followed him wherever he went. Two was related to One, as Louis had responded to the whispers by putting on a show of indifference to the opinions of others, which kept his comrades at arm's length. And Three, Louis had an unfortunate habit of being seduced by faeries.

Once was a novelty, his fling with the Prince of the White Flowers satisfying the court’s hunger of gossip for an entire spring.

Twice was impressive, albeit his relationship with Lady Linet’s magical manservant ending rather badly when the poor chap was imprisoned on that wet fish Lancelot’s command for “facilitating covert communication” or some rubbish.

Three times was a habit, though in his defence he never actually slept with Lord Bertilak’s paramour, and not for lack of his trying, either; waking up with a bright-eyed young man sitting on the edge of Louis’ bed had been a little alarming, to say the least.

Four times was a running court joke, even when Louis insisted that it was all pulp-brained Lancelot’s fault that he was thrown into prison and rescued by the delightfully bendy stablehand-slash-faery spy at the Siege of Rigamour.

And here he was. Yet again. Trotting all over Albion on horseback, getting involved with bloody faeries though he’d sworn he’d have nothing to do with them anymore. He had a reputation to consider, after all. That being said, he suspected he’d be fairly safe this time around, given that that the faery in question seemed fairly determined on cursing his favourite uncle into painful oblivion, and was female besides.

It had all started on the first spring hunt. Louis, Arthur and Sir Niall had become separated from the rest of the hunting party while pursuing a huge stag through the woods.  Everyone’s blood had been up, thundering through the undergrowth with nothing but the rushing wind and the barking of hounds in their ears as they strayed farther and farther from Camelot.

Louis had known that they were approaching the Avalonian Woods, but before he’d been able to shout out a warning, the three of them had been enveloped in a thick, white mist that seemed to freeze solid in Louis’ lungs. Too late.

Louis' horse Gringolet stilled, unnaturally quiet, not even shifting his weight. Just discernible through the fog was a dark figure, diminutive but brandishing a far staff; Louis had seen such weapons light entire armies on fire, bring the strongest castle walls down to dust piles, once even used to summon a dragon that proceeded to burn down a village and tear the more unfortunate citizens to bloody bits.

He gulped.

“Who trespasses upon my domain?” the stranger’s voice seemed to reverberate from all around, in a hundred different tones and timbres, genderless, emotionless. It made the hairs on Louis’ arms stand up on end.

“King Arthur of Camelot.”

“Prince Louis of Doncaster.”

“Sir Niall of… Ireland.”

Louis and Arthur turned to stare at Niall, who shrugged.

“Human titles mean nothing to the fae folk,” the voice replied, devoid of emotion and mercy, though the more Louis listened, the more it seemed to err on the side of femininity, “You have invaded Avalon, and in doing so, your lives are forfeit in accordance with our laws.”

“No, surely—!“

“ _However,_ I can offer you an alternative. Avalon has no quarrel with you, Arthur of Camelot. So, accept my challenge, or prepare to die here.”

“You want a feckin’ _fight—?_ ”

“Niall!” Louis yelped, glancing at the figure before them. They didn’t move, but their staff pulsed with blue light. Louis fought the urge to shriek.

“I accept your challenge,” Arthur replied, voice steady but hands trembling slightly. The faceless figure cocked its head to one side.

“Anything?”

Arthur audibly swallowed.

“Anything.”

“Return to this place at the next new moon, with the answer to this question: what is it that all lovers desire, though they may not know it?”

“Now hang on—“ Niall protested, but fell silent when Louis reached over to smack him upside the head.

“I’ll be here,” Arthur replied, looking considerably paler than usual, “You have my word.”

“I don’t need your word,” the figure said dispassionately, “The Lady of Avalon have her answer or your head before this is done, Arthur of Camelot.”

With that, the fog had cleared and the figure had vanished into the ether, or wherever it was that faeries went when they weren’t making Louis’ life a living hell.

The three of them were silent for a moment.

“So,” Arthur cleared his throat and looked from Louis to Niall, “Any thoughts?”

 

[♛⚔♛⚔♛](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7cIbK_SyWdM)

 

So that was how he and Niall came to be on this ridiculous mission, with Sir Liam and the court minstrel Zayn in tow, while Arthur put his affairs in order back in Camelot, traipsing from town to town in search of a definitive answer to the Lady of Avalon’s question.

“Sex.” Niall had said bluntly.

“Romance,” Liam had insisted.

“Tokens of affection,” Zayn had stated.

“To speak one’s love aloud,” Lancelot had said wistfully. Tosser.

“To be together always.”

“Reciprocation,”

“To grow old with their beloved.”

Louis hadn’t bothered at all. He’d had plenty of flings, but fuck if he knew anything about _love_.

Everyone had a different answer. Literally everyone. Every single person in every single town had prioritised something different, and Louis was almost ready to self-immolate. The new moon was coming up too quickly, and they still had no definitive answer. Arthur was becoming more and more frantic, and his knights were becoming anxious, to say the least. Well, all of them apart from Eel-Livered Lancelot who had a vested interest in the Queen being free to remarry. Bastard.

“It has to be obvious,” Liam puzzled as they plodded through the Cheshire Wood. It was the edge of sunset, and the twilight was playing tricks on them. Louis didn’t like it, and nor did Gringolet, judging by how he kept spooking and harrumphing.

“You keep saying that, but we’ve been at this for three bloody weeks and nothing!” Niall replied impatiently. Niall didn’t get impatient.

“Leave him alone,” Zayn replied mildly, “We’re all fed up and tired, no point snapping at each other.”

Niall looked abashed.

“Sorry, Li.”

“’S alright,”

They continued in defeated silence as the skies grew darker and darker. Just as Louis was about to propose that they set up camp, Liam drew his horse to a halt.

“Firelight, up ahead.”

“Bandits?” Louis asked quietly, pulling his sword from its scabbard. The others followed suit, apart from Zayn, though he did swing his lute off his back menacingly.

“Can’t tell,” Liam muttered, urging his horse on all the same. The four of them made their steady way toward the distant orange light, but as they drew closer, they realised that only one figure sat by it, huddled against a tree trunk with its back to them.

“For god’s sake, put those away, you’ll hurt someone,” its croaky voice sighed, and the four of them startled.

“Friend or foe?”

“In the face of that much steel? Friend,” the figure replied, unmoving, obscured by a scarlet cloak with the hood drawn up over its face.

Liam and Niall looked to Louis, who shrugged. They outnumbered the stranger four-to-one, armed and trained in combat besides. They were safe for now.

“Alright,” Louis said. “Do you mind if we share your fire for the night? We have food to share, and wine.”

“I’d be grateful for company,” the figure sounded genuinely pleased, “And it’s nice of you to offer your food.”

The knights and Zayn dismounted, the others hobbling the horses near the stream and untacking them as Louis and the stranger set about unloading and preparing the provisions the party had brought with them from the last town. The stranger kept his hood up, and his cloak firmly wrapped around him. Still, Louis could tell that he was tall, if hunch-backed, and walked with a slight shuffle. In the firelight, he could see that his hands were twisted and veiny, with dark moles and warts on the knuckles. Though unpleasant, he’d seen worse.

“So, what’s your name?” Louis asked the stranger affably as he pulled the wine flasks from his saddle bag. The stranger didn’t reply immediately, merely moved round to let Gringolet sniff at him. Louis opened his mouth to warn him that Gringolet had a tendency to bite people who weren't Louis, but it died in his throat when the horse gave a happy whicker and nuzzled the stranger's grotesque fingers.

“Harry," the stranger said after a moment.

“Harry of…?”

“Just Harry,” he replied a little sharply.

“Right… I don't suppose you'd show me your face?”

"Correct."

Taken aback by the stranger's insolence, Louis summoned his best impressive voice. 

“I'm Prince Louis of Doncaster, Knight of the Round Table and—“

He stopped when the stranger snorted.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just… Yeah, I’ve heard of you, no need to go through the whole list of titles.”

He couldn’t be sure, but Louis thought he heard the others sniggering from their place by the stream. He’d never been good with embarrassment.

“Well, I just wasn’t sure if my reputation extended to the forest hermit community.”

“Hermits don’t have communities, that’s what being a hermit is, Sir Prince,” Harry shot back with surprising snideness.

“Bit touchy, are we?” Louis taunted.

“You’re one to talk. One bruise to your ego and you’re on the attack.”

Louis clenched his jaw. That struck too close for comfort.

“Just wondering, Harry, you know, just out of common interest, piqued curiosity, inquisitive mind and all that…” Louis gritted out, “How did you know we were coming?”

Harry stilled for a moment.

“The birds told me.”

There was a brief silence.

“The birds.”

“The birds,” Harry confirmed from beneath his red hood, “And the squirrels, but they’re all liars so I didn’t believe them.”

“All squirrels are liars,” Louis repeated faintly.

“Well, not all of them. Just most. It’s not nice to generalise.”

“Right.”

As Harry began to expertly roast the skinned rabbits on a spit, Louis set about cutting up the bread and cheese. He almost chopped his finger off when Harry spoke next.

“So, are you going to ask me the big question, or not?”

“ _What?_ ” Louis demanded, setting the knife down with a clatter.

“The birds told me you’ve been travelling all over, asking people what lovers desire most,” Harry explained placidly, turning the spit and making the fire sizzle as fat drops hit the flames, “Thought you’d be desperate enough to ask anyone, at this point. I believe the king’s life is at stake, isn’t it?”

“How can you even—The bleeding _birds_ — _Do you even know the answer_?” Louis sputtered, and became dimly aware that the others had rejoined them, and were watching the exchange expectantly. He could practically feel their breath collectively hitch when Harry answered in his rough voice.

“Yes.”

“Tell us!” Niall blurted out.

“I will,” Harry’s voice took on a sly tone from beneath his hood, “Though I ask something in return.”

“Anything, anything,” Liam said hurriedly, and Louis wanted to push him into the fire. This was the kind of compliant shit that had got them into this mess.

“Anything?” the hood shifted as Harry presumably cocked his head to one side, and Louis had a brief flash of déja vu. An unpleasant one. The others were all looking at him — rightly so, as he was the highest-ranked out of them. It was his decision.

He swallowed. Things couldn’t get worse, at any rate.

“Anything.”

“A prince’s hand in marriage.”

Oh, no. Things could _certainly_ get worse.

“Excuse me?”

“Appearances are deceiving. I am a prince, though my kingdom is lost to me,” Harry replied levelly, “I won’t marry below my rank, and I have no interest in the fairer sex. In return for the answer to the question that will save your lives, and the life of the king, my price is a prince’s hand in marriage.”

“That’s… I mean, there’s only me,” Louis croaked. The king and queen were childless, and all of Louis’ siblings were girls. He was next in line for Arthur’s throne in addition to his father’s.

“Ah,” Harry replied, and Louis detected a strain of dismay in his voice, which, _really._ “Well, before you decide, I suppose I should…” he gestured vaguely at his hood with one gnarled hand “…Before you make a decision… Only fair…”

With that, he lifted his hood from his face, and Louis fought the urge to scream.

It was a face unlike any that he’d seen before. A smattering of limp, white hair clung to a bare scalp, which turned into a red-spotted, pronounced forehead with bushy, unkempt eyebrows. The eyes beneath were haunting; one was green, the other completely white, and framed by glistening red eyelids and loose, dark bags beneath. The nose was bulbous and red, and seemed to be dripping onto the mouth, which was was frog-wide, thin-lipped and crooked with one, brown bottom tooth sticking over the top lip like a tusk. The skin hung off his chin and neck like loose fabric, and all of it was covered in stray hairs and warts.

And unless he wanted Arthur to die by any of a thousand horrible methods at the Lady of Avalon’s hand, Louis had to take this monster’s hand in marriage.

“Louis?” came Zayn’s tentative voice from what seemed like very far way. Louis spared Niall a glance, and was met by a hopeless look, but he knew that there was only one answer he could live with.

He turned back to Harry. It was hard to read his expression behind his inhumanly ghastly features, though Louis thought he caught a glimmer of uncertainty in his good eye.

“Fine,” Louis choked out, and he heard the others let out the breaths they’d been holding.

“No need to sound so enthusiastic,” Harry replied flatly. When he spoke, his chapped lips split slightly.

“No, sorry, I… Wait,” Louis summed up all the diplomatic skills he’d acquired in his lessons growing up as a crown prince, and sank onto one knee, taking Harry’s hand in his own. It was clammy.

“I pledge my hand in marriage to you, Harry of… Cheshire Wood. If you’ll accept it.”

Harry stared down at Louis for long seconds, probing with his frightening eyes.

“Very well. I accept.”

“Great,” Liam said weakly, “Will you tell us—?”

“Not yet. Not until Sir Louis and I are married,” Harry said firmly.

Louis let go of Harry’s hand, and got back up onto his feet. He couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. For once in his life, Prince Louis of Doncaster was lost for words, not a trace of bravado about him. It was like having lost a limb.

“Anyone fancy a song?” Zayn finally said with forced cheer, swinging his lute off his shoulder and strumming a pleasant chord.

They spoke very little for the rest of the evening.

 

[♛⚔♛⚔♛](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_7mbCZgfRk)

 

“So, considering I’m going to marry you tomorrow, I feel like we should maybe… I don’t know, clear the air, after yesterday. Get to know each other.”

They’d been riding for about an hour, the sun still low in the sky and the night chill still hanging off their fingertips. Liam and Niall had taken up the head of the train, Zayn in the middle humming in his smooth tenor voice, and Harry and Louis trailing at the back of the train, sharing a horse. Harry’s arms, though bony, were strong around Louis’ waist.

“Alright. What do you want to know?” Harry asked, his breath warm on the back of Louis’ neck. It was unpleasant-smelling, and Louis had to take a gulp of fresh air before he continued.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

Louis tried to hide his gasp, but he knew Harry would be able to feel the jolt of his ribs.

“Yeah, I know, I look much younger.”

Louis let out a loud bark of laughter before he could stop himself, and instantly felt horrified at himself for the slip.

“Sorry, I just—“

“I was making a joke, Louis,” Harry’s voice carried the hint of a smile, “I’m not blind, I know I’m… Well, you know. Hideous.”

Louis didn’t know what to say to that. After a moment, he asked another question.

“Where are you from?”

“Far away.”

“Anywhere I’ve heard of?”

“Probably.”

There was a beat of silence.

“That’s all I’m getting from you about that, isn’t it?” Louis asked.

“Yep,” Harry replied easily, “What about you?”

“Doncaster. Queen Johannah is my mother. Six siblings, five sisters and a brother.”

“Wow,” Harry whistled, though it was more of a wheeze through his crooked teeth, “I’ve only got one sister. Gemma. She’s… Very protective.”

There was something in Harry’s tone and pacing that made Louis even more curious, but he didn’t press the issue.

“Are you close?”

“We used to be.”

The next few minutes passed in silence as the horses forded a narrow stream and struggled up the steep far bank.

“So, this bird thing,” Louis finally said, “How did you… I don’t know, learn Birdlish?”

He felt Harry chuckle behind him.

“It’s a gift, I guess. It’s not uncommon, where I’m from.”

“Right… Are you from—?”

“Do you think Zayn would let me borrow his lute?”

Louis was thrown for a second by the sudden change of topic.

“Er… I suppose so, why?”

“I want to catch fish with it,” Harry replied, tone dripping with sarcasm. Louis fought the urge to smile, in spite of himself.

“… You play?”

“A few instruments. Used to sing, too.”

“We’ll ask him when we make camp,” Louis promised, and to his surprise, Harry squeeze his middle slightly.

“Thanks, Louis.”

 

♛⚔♛⚔♛

 

As the day had worn on, Louis found himself forgetting about what the man behind him looked like in the midst of dry quips and startlingly insightful statements, all spoken in that rough, deep voice that sometimes hinted at something less froglike but never quite got there. He even almost managed to convince himself that perhaps this marriage wouldn’t make him completely miserable… But then they’d stop to let the horses rest and to eat and drink was he reminded of how stomach-turningly ugly Harry was to behold, and then wanting to kick himself for being so superficial. But the fact was that he was a prince, the most eligible bachelor in the kingdom, and he was going to spend his life with someone even the poorest peasant without a home and dowry would spit at.

He was washing the day’s dirt away in the cool stream by their camp when he heard a sweet series of lute chords weave their way between the trees. It seemed like two melodies from two instruments being played at once, but when he made his way back up to the fire, it was just Harry with Zayn’s lute resting across his legs and knobbly fingers flying deftly over the strings to create that otherworldly sound. Without a mirror, Louis couldn’t be sure what his face looked like at that moment, but he fancied it was a cross between Niall’s and Liam’s which were a standard “wildly impressed” and Zayn’s which was an interesting mix of “incredulous”.

Harry’s face, however, was peaceful, though still fearsome in the firelight. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be transported somewhere else by the music as it wove and swooped and soared through the clearing, leaving a lump in Louis' heart. As the song wound to a close, Harry seemed to slowly return to them, only opening his eyes once the final note faded away into the dark.

“That was incredible! Where did you learn to play like that?” Zayn demanded, taking his proffered lute back as Niall and Liam clapped in appreciation. Louis took his spot by the fire, on the opposite side to Harry, nodding his acknowledgement.

“I was tutored from a young age. I haven’t played in years, though. Thought I’d muck it up, to be honest,” he croaked, flexing his fingers gingerly. “It has words, too, but my voice… It was better when I was younger.”

“Well, any time you fancy playing, come and find me,” Zayn insisted, and he seemed genuinely keen on the prospect. “We could probably help each other.”

“I might just do that,” Harry flashed him a terrifying grin.

It was strange, but Harry seemed to fit seamlessly into their group, almost as if he were filling a space that none of them had noticed was empty before. He was quirky enough to understand Liam’s obtuse comments, affectionate enough to not be overwhelmed by Niall's enthusiasm, and clever enough to keep up with Zayn's wit. Despite being relieved that Harry was turning out to be a pleasant person, and that at the very least Louis wouldn’t be spending future feasts being bored out of his mind, he was also a little disconcerted that it had taken Harry less than a day to fit in, where it had taken Louis the better part of a year. 

“What will you do when we get to Camelot?” Niall asked Harry, snapping Louis out of his reverie, “You don’t seem like the fighting type…”

“I’ll have you know I’m a formidable warrior,” Harry replied with a crooked smile – all of his smiles were crooked, to be honest – “But I would rather cure people than harm them.”

“I think the court physician is looking for a new apprentice,” Liam put in helpfully, chomping into an apple, “You could talk to her.”

“That sounds perfect. What d’you think, Louis?” Harry’s voice turned suddenly tentative as he turned his attention to Louis, who made a show of shrugging indifferently.

“If that’s what you want.”

There was an awkward silence, and Louis caught Liam and Niall exchanging a look over the fire.

“Should get some sleep,” Harry said abruptly, reaching to tug his cloak more securely around himself.

“I’ll take first watch,” Louis said, getting to his feet and stretching out his sore muscles. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to sleep anyway.

“Wake me in three hours,” Liam mumbled, pulling a blanket out of his pack and shaking it out over himself.

Soon, the clearing was full of deep breathing and soft snores. Louis leaned back against the bark of the old pine they’d set up their camp under, breathing in the smell of the fallen needles, smoke and the night air. He loved being outdoors, even though the ground was hard and travelling blankets were scratchy. After a childhood cooped up in Doncaster Castle, detained by a long line of tutors, educated in government and diplomacy and geography and history and everything in between that he’d need to know as a king, the open air was like a siren call.

Suddenly, he felt a hand clap over his mouth and the cold line of a blade at his throat.

“Scream and you’ll be dead before your friends hear it.”

He knew the voice. He nodded minutely, pulse racing and roaring in his ears. The hand slipped away, but the blade remained in place.

“Three days until the new moon. Do you have my answer?”

“Not yet,” he whispered, and the blade pressed a little harder into his skin, just enough that Louis felt the sting of blood bubbling to the surface.

“You’re running out of time, Sir Louis of Doncaster.”

“I’ll have your answer by tomorrow, I swear.”

“You’d better. I _really_ don’t want to have to kill you.”

“Louis?”

_Oh, no._

Harry sat up sleepily, hood slipping off his face to reveal his ghastly features. The Lady of Avalon froze.

“Go back to sleep. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Harry merely stared, first at Louis, then over his left shoulder. He seemed to be having trouble breathing.

“Harry, please.”

He didn’t move.

Then, the cold edge of the blade left Louis’ skin.

“Three days,” murmured the Lady of Avalon, before a warm gust of wind blew into the clearing and she was gone. Harry’s gaze dropped to his hands, which Louis then realised had been shaking. He got to his feet, crossing to where Harry sat, still trembling and breathing shakily, and before he knew it he was taking Harry’s hands in his own.

“Harry… It’s alright, she’s gone.”

Harry snatched his hands away with a fiery look, pulling his hood over his face and rolling so he was curled into a ball, facing away from Louis.

“Harry?”

There was no reply. Louis eventually made his way back to his spot on the other side of the clearing, and even when it came time to wake Liam at the end of his watch, he couldn’t sleep.

 

[♛⚔♛⚔♛](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47Crpjlb63k)

 

Their reception at Camelot went better than Louis had expected.

As they’d approached the formidable citadel gates, Harry had pulled his red hood over his face, and they had passed through the streets without incident, met only by curious looks and calls of greeting from the townsfolk. They didn't talk about the night before.

As they passed Beggars’ Alley, Louis hopped down.

“Wait here a moment,” he instructed, and from beneath the hood, Harry made an enquiring sound, and Liam began to protest.

“Louis, we don’t have _time_ —“

“There’s always time,” Louis shot back, but it was with unusual haste that he made his way down the street and back up, dropping silver talents into the cups and holey hats that were shaken in his direction, slipping extras to the children that got under his feet. They’d never rob him; though the waifs of the town were known to cut the purses of the odd lordling or rich merchant, Louis was a regular face in Beggars’ Alley and though he wasn’t popular among his comrades, the poor loved him, and sometimes he quietly fancied that that was recognition enough.

“What were you doing down there?” Harry asked when he returned, taking the reins and leading Gringolet toward the castle gate on foot.

“Taking care of some business,” he lied smoothly. Harry didn’t reply, but Louis was suddenly suspicious of every birdsong that wove down from the city rooftops to the street.

They hadn’t even changed out of their travelling clothes when Arthur summoned them to an audience.

"You three go rest," Louis told the other wearily, handing his reins to his overeager squire and helping Harry down. "We'll go deal with Arthur."

"Cheers, Louis," Liam yawned, clapping him on the shoulder and making his way to the barracks. Harry pushed his hood off his face, and seemed to either not notice or care when Louis' squire Yvain yelped at the sight. He did, however, smile slightly when Louis subsequently smacked Yvain round the head and sent him to unsaddle and groom Gringolet, who refused to leave until he'd been allowed to gently headbutt Harry's side in farewell.

"He doesn't normally like new people," Louis commented, still thrown by Gringolet's sudden change in character.

"Do I look normal to you?" Harry replied, raising his unkempt eyebrows. Louis merely made a noncommittal noise in response, and Harry pulled his hood back up to cover his face.

"Just so you know," Louis said quietly, "My uncle can be a little... Blunt."

"Blunter than you?"

"Fairly sure ' _b_ _lunter_ ' is not a word, Harold."

"Fairly sure ' _Harold_ ' is not my name, Louis."

Louis couldn't be sure, but he was willing to wager that his own bitten-back grin was mirrored on Harry's face, too. The two of them received a few questioning looks on their way to the Throne Hall, which, considering the kind of looks they'd probably be receiving from now on, didn't bother Louis too much.

  
♛⚔♛⚔♛

 

“Well? Did you get the answer?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Louis replied slowly, glancing sideways at Harry, who still had not removed his hood.

“Louis…” Arthur said tiredly, and Queen Guinevere leaned over the armrest of her throne to rest a quieting hand on his forearm.

“Who is this, Louis?” she asked calmly, deep brown eyes flickering between himself and Harry.

“This is Harry. He has the answer to the riddle.”

“Well, what is it?” Arthur demanded, seemingly at his wit’s end. Harry cleared his throat.

“I will give it to you before your deadline, Your Majesty. But Sir Louis and I have come to an agreement. His hand in marriage in return for my information.”

Arthur and Guinevere looked stunned.

“He’s the heir to two thrones, surely he’d—“

“-- Be permitted to marry whomever he wishes,” Guinevere cut in firmly, and Louis bit back a comment about how ironic the thought of being able to marry in accordance with his own wishes was in this situation.

Luckily, Harry chose to divert the attention from Louis’ sour expression by revealing his face. Arthur’s eyes widened considerably as he gaped, but the queen, kind and composed soul she was, stood up after a moment and approached Harry, taking his hands in hers. For his part, Harry looked utterly bewildered.

“You’re welcome here, Harry. To Camelot, and to our family.”

Harry’s voice came out a little choked when he replied.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Guinevere, please,” she insisted with a smile, letting go of his hands, “Now, forgive the hastiness, but I believe we have a wedding ceremony to organise for this afternoon.”

“Anyone would think someone’s life depended on it,” Arthur added darkly, but Harry chuckled, and Louis felt the corners of his own mouth twitch at the sound.

 

[♛⚔♛⚔♛](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VydMVfonXmc)

 

It was… Well, it wasn’t a somber affair, but it lacked the usual gusto of weddings in Arthur’s court.

Louis had never really pictured his wedding day in much detail, but he had never pictured his husband-to-be wearing a flower crown as their hands were twined together with passionflower vines. They were both clad in matching white tunics with gold embroidery, miraculously found amongst the court tailor’s practice pieces; they were a little too big for Louis and a little short on Harry, even with his hunched back, but they did the job. Despite the beautiful fabric and the flowers woven around his brow, Harry still made a fairly terrifying picture, and Louis heard a few mutters of dismay among the guests as they made their way from the chapel to the Great Hall.

_Such a waste._

_Have you ever seen such a pair?_

_Married to that thing._

He was married. To Harry. They were married, and Louis didn’t feel anything. It had felt so wooden and perfunctory thats he almost wanted to cry, and when he sneaked a look at Harry, he looked as dismayed as Louis felt. Louis didn’t even have it in him to be offended.

The feast was interesting, candles forgone in favour of the tawny afternoon sunlight that still streamed through the windows; it was nearing Midsummer, so the days were long. Harry seemed to be a little thrown by court customs, for all of his claims of having royal blood himself.

“What’s the matter?” Louis muttered as Harry stared down at his soup in confusion.

“In—I mean back in my kingdom—Things are a little different. We mainly serve fruit and grains at feasts. Stuff you can eat with your hands.,” he murmured in reply, sounding a little embarrassed. In spite of himself, Louis was endeared.

“Just follow me,” he replied, nudging Harry with what he hoped came across as encouragement before picking up his spoon. “Use the utensils on the outside first, and work your way inwards. Chew with your mouth closed and keep your elbows off the table. Don’t slurp.”

“Who’d have had you pegged as a master of etiquette?” Harry replied with a cheeky look, the white peonies of his flower crown slipping down his brow as he giggled.

“They teach you these things in Doncaster Prince Academy,” Louis deadpanned. “It’s an important part of the curriculum.”

“What, Spoon Science?”

“Among other things. Spoon Science falls under the larger subject area of Utensilology.”

“I think I read a book about that, once. Riveting stuff.”

Louis nodded sagely before they both snorted into their soup, garnering strange looks from those around them.

“I don’t suppose now that I’m your husband you’re going to enlighten me about your Dark And Mysterious Past?” Louis asked lightly when their laughter had died down. He regretted it instantly; Harry’s face closed up, and he turned to his food.

“No.”

Louis bit his lip.

“Alright.”

“What?”

When Louis looked back up, Harry was frowning at him.

“I won’t keep asking if it bothers you. You have a right to your secrets. I won’t… I don’t know, push you into telling me,” Louis mumbled, feeling himself flush. He didn’t _do_ humility. Not in front of others.

Harry stared at him a moment longer, before nodding and turning back to his soup. They ate in comfortable silence for a while, courses passing quickly as the light turned more and more orange.

“… Almost as vain as Sir Louis!”

Louis froze. He felt Harry inhale sharply beside him. It was Lancelot who had spoken, grinning at Louis tauntingly; he was obviously intoxicated, his handsome features flushed with wine. They'd been best friends, once.

“And now look at how the high and mighty get their comeuppance,” he continued, spiel disguised by the music and hubbub of the feast. It seemed that only Louis and Harry and a few other knights were listening, though Liam and Niall were shooting concerned glances from farther along the table, “Always thinking he’s a cut above everyone else because he’s a prince, and now honour-bound to sacrifice himself.”

“Enough, Lancelot,” Sir Bedivere warned, but Lancelot didn’t listen.

“What, don’t pretend we don’t all think the same thing,” Lancelot insisted, “He struts around like he already owns the place, thinks he’s the best of all of us when he’s nothing but a privileged upstart who only got to be here because of Uncle Arthur--!”

“Enough!” Louis bellowed, and the hall fell silent. He stood there a moment, eyes locked with Lancelot's, feeling the hatred burn hot and fresh in his blood and itching to leap across the table and sink his fist into that haughty face. But he didn't.

He took Harry’s hand and, without meeting anyone’s eyes, pulled him away from the feast table and away from the court without so much as a by-your-leave. He made it halfway up the grand staircase before Harry tugged his hand away.

“Louis...”

“Please, don’t,” Louis begged, pinching the bridge of his nose and leaning against the bannister.

He took a few calming breaths before looking up at Harry, who looked lost for words.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Harry rasped, looking confused. He seemed out of breath, though they'd barely climbed six steps.

“He was talking about you like you were… I don’t know, some sort of punishment for me being an arrogant shit.”

“Is that what _you_ think?” Harry asked calmly, and Louis shook his head frantically.

“No! No, I—Harry, we’ve only really just met—“

“—It's just that, I’m, well—“

“A damn sight nicer than most of the people in there,” Louis cut in firmly, every instinct screaming at him to put up his front of indifference again but fighting it down, “And I’d rather marry you a hundred times over than so much as breathe the same air as Lancelot for a second.”

Harry looked stunned.

“Really?”

“Really. I mean, I barely know you, and for all I know you torture mice for fun—“

“I do _not!_ ” Harry looked horrified by the notion and Louis, despite his black mood, chuckled.

“Never said you did. But what I’m saying is that I’m not disappointed that I married you. No matter what others might say.”

The words came forward without Louis even planning it, and to his surprise, he found that he meant them.

Harry took his hand in his own bony one and squeezed it reassuringly.

“Thank you.”

  
♛⚔♛⚔♛

 

And so began their married life.

The first night had been awkward, settling on sleeping top-to-tail in their large bed without the thought of a touch; Louis noticed that Harry seemed unaccustomed to human contact, startling when grabbed suddenly or brushed against. Though part of him that was relieved at Harry's express desire to not fulfil _that_ particular part of the marriage ceremony, Louis found himself feeling sad that Harry was so aware of the effect his appearance had, that he didn't dare ask for even the simplest expressions of affection.  

But perhaps as a result of their disastrous wedding feast, the two of them grew to become protective of one another. Louis spent his days training with the knights and visiting villages troubled by bandits and thieves, and Harry began working under the tutelage of Professor Arin, the court physician, and the time in between was spent in easy hours talking or just being together, before retiring early. Harry seemed to get tired easily, though he shrugged Louis off whenever he mentioned it.

The new moon came and went. After privately giving Arthur the answer to the riddle, Harry had said nothing more of the matter. The king had ridden alone to the Avalonian Woods, returning with the news that the Lady of Avalon had been satisfied with the answer and that he had been absolved. To his immense frustration, Louis never found out the answer, no matter how much they pestered Harry to tell them.

“If people knew how stubborn you really are, they wouldn’t fawn over you so much,” Louis grumbled one morning after yet another unsuccessful attempt of wheedling the answer out of Harry, who had finally mastered the use of the washbasin in their chamber. Louis didn’t know where Harry was from, but it had to have been a very primitive sort of place to not have the things that Harry found confusing in Camelot. However, Louis found he didn’t mind teaching Harry how to do these mundane little things, even feeling a sense of achievement when Harry got the hang of them.

Harry snorted into the towel he was drying his face with.

“That’s a lie, and you know it,” he replied, flopping down on the bed carefully, shoulders in line with Louis’ knees.

He was right, was the thing; though the residents of the castle and town had initially been terrified of Harry’s countenance, his gentle manner and innate charm had won them over very quickly. Even the children whose colds he cured with honey-sweetened tonics and whose scrapes he bandaged with stingless salves had come to adore him. Louis privately fancied that he was the resident Lovable Monster.

“The birds told me that you’ve been meeting strangers in the woods,” Harry said lightly. “Care to tell me what that’s about?”

“Spies. There’s news that Arthur’s bastard son is causing trouble up north,” Louis replied honestly.

“Mordred?”

“The very same.”

“You care a lot about them, don’t you? Arthur and Guinevere?”

“They’re family. Family comes first.”

Harry inhaled sharply before he replied.

“As it should.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in!”

Zayn ambled into the room, one lute slung over his shoulder and another tucked under his arm in a case.

“Ready, Harry?”

"I don't know," Harry sighed, sitting up with some effort. "Are you?"

Zayn merely laughed, and moved to their usual spot in front of the hearth, setting the lute case against the seat opposite the one in which he sat.

“I’d best be off,” Louis sighed, rolling out of bed and pulling his boots on.

“Tell Niall to not strain that knee, or he’ll do himself a serious injury,” Harry said offhandedly, undoing the clasps on the lute case. He struggled with it, and Louis made a mental note to ask him about it privately; over the past few days, Harry had seemed to be growing frail. “And ask if he’s been using his ointment!”

Louis nodded, crossing the room to drop a chaste kiss to Harry’s brow; he knew that Harry shied away from this kind of thing, usually, but Louis was determined that, even if he couldn't be a proper husband in every sense, he'd try to make Harry feel valued. He sometimes caught other people giving them surprised looks when Louis initiated such things in public, given the way that Harry appeared, but even that was becoming less and less noticeable to him.

“I will. Have fun, boys!”

 

♛⚔♛⚔♛

 

A bead of sweat trickled down Louis’ back as he called for his knights to conclude their training exercises; it had been a long afternoon, and tonight was the Midsummer feast, so he was letting them off early. He hoped that Harry would be up to the celebration; over the past fortnight or so since Louis had noticed his struggle with the lute case, he had been prone to dozing off in his armchair, and coughing wetly at even the slightest physical exertion. It was only getting worse, and Louis was surprised at how frantic he felt at the notion that Harry's health was deteriorating with no obvious cause.

“Excellent work, everyone! Perceval, if I could see you a moment…”

The rest of them traipsed off to the Armoury to return their blunt swords and dummy shields as Louis questioned Perceval about the tension he’d noticed between him and Galahad, slowly ambling across the lawns.

“Speaking as First Knight, I honestly don’t care about what you get up to in your own time, but lovers’ quarrels have no place in the ranks, do you understand, Perceval?”

“Yes, sir,” Perceval mumbled as Louis clapped him on the shoulder.

“Speaking as your friend, though, I really do hope you sort it out,” Louis added in a softer tone, making Perceval smile.

“Thanks, Louis.”

They were around the corner from the Armoury now, and strains of conversation were reverberating off the stone walls. Louis stopped at the sound of Harry’s name.

“… to poor Harry. Despite the face, he’s a good sort, he is, fixed up my shoulder no problems.”

“You should have seen the stitching he put into that cut Niall gave me in training last week—“

“Sorry, mate.”

“It’s alright. But best stitches I’ve ever had, better than Arin’s, and the salve had it healing over in a day,” it was Kai who spoke now. “The fellow’s a miracle worker, best thing to happen to this place in ages…”

Louis felt himself grinning at the praise, making a note to tell Harry later. He didn't want to examine that too closely -- secondhand pride was well into the territory of being in love, and, well. He was fairly certain it wasn't love. At least, not the kind of love he’d read about in books.

Then again, love in stories never seemed to leave in the little things that Louis treasured most about their relationship, whatever it was. Things like covering someone with a blanket when they fell asleep reading, or bringing them a small gift to apologise for leaving them alone for three days while out on a mission. The quiet admissions of insecurity in the dark of their chamber met by unfailing reassurance, the shared looks and suppressed giggles when they were at austere court functions, the constant amazement at being so flawlessly attuned to another person.

It wasn't love. It couldn't be. But Louis knew in his heart of hearts that it was damned well close.

“… Shame he’s got himself lumped with the Donbastard,”

Louis froze, and barely felt Perceval’s hand on his bicep.

“He’s not so bad…” he heard Liam’s voice reply, but there was very little feeling behind it.

“Oh, come off it,” Kai insisted. “You can’t say you don’t think he’s a total pain, swaggering everywhere and ordering everyone about like he’s already king.”

“He’s a decent bloke. He just... I think he plays things close-to-the-vest,” Niall’s voice piped up indignantly, but was met by a chorus of tuts and sniffs.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t see his face at the wedding. Like a cat eating a lemon,” Bedivere said slowly. “Thinks that Harry’s beneath him, probably. Like he does with everyone.”

“Lancelot was out of line but… I mean there’s a sort of poetic irony that he goes around with everyone wanting him for years and him ending up with someone nobody wants,” Louis had to strain to hear Kai’s voice, feeling nauseated. He had to get away. But first…

He rounded the corner and stood in the doorway, willing his knees to not tremble. A dozen heads snapped his way and coloured an array of hues. Louis knew his expression said that he’d heard everything. Kai alone didn’t notice.

“It should really be Louis with the monster-features, if the face reflected the man beneath—“

“When you’re quite finished, Kai,” Louis finally spoke in a tone like ice, and Kai whipped around, wide-eyed.

The two stood that way for several moments.

“This isn’t over,” Louis murmured in his most frightening tone, and Kai paled.

Finally, Louis turned on his heel, shouldering past Perceval and storming up to his and Harry’s chambers, finding them empty. He kicked over a chair with a feral roar, sliding to the ground and willing himself not to cry.

After all he’d done in an attempt to win respect, all his hard, proud façade had earned him was the disdain of his peers. He had thought that being a prince would make them think he was soft and pampered, and so cultivating the front of being a cold bastard was supposed to have made them take him seriously.

And now he wondered if the act hadn’t become part of his nature; what if he _was_ that person?

“Louis?”

“ _What?_ ” he snapped, leaping to his feet and glaring at the intrusion, dimly aware that his cheeks were wet. Closing the door behind him was Harry, looking concerned and leaning against the wall for support as he panted, clearly exerted from the walk to their chambers.

“Louis, what’s wrong?”

“Mind your own business,” Louis hissed, making to leave the room, but Harry caught him round the wrist. Behind the fury and humiliation, Louis registered that his grip was weak.

“What’s gotten into you? What happened, Lou?”

“ _You_ bloody happened,” Louis shot back, and Harry retracted his hand as though Louis’ skin was burning him. “You force me into this marriage and suddenly, everyone’s fallen in love with you and still think I’m the scum of the earth!”

“I didn’t – They don’t—“ Harry stammered.

“Oh, but they do! Suddenly it's all _p_ _oor_ Harry _, stuck with that monster!_ Surely you know I’ve got a reputation?” Louis ranted. “That mean, conceited bastard prince who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and doesn’t deserve a single thing he has?”

“That’s not true,” Harry said in a small voice.

“How the hell would you know?”

“The birds—“

“ _The birds_ , always with the fucking birds, give it a rest!” Louis didn’t know where this meanness was coming from. Maybe he was resigning himself to the persona after all. “You dance around in your fucking flower tiaras, charming people and fixing them even though they’d probably spit at you if they didn’t know you. How can you be so naïve?”

He paused a moment, breathing heavily, staring dead into Harry’s stricken, mismatched eyes. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted to make him leave, find something better than a broken, poisonous person like Louis could offer him.

“Why would you even come to this place? Why would you think I’d ever want you?”

Harry looked as though Louis had slapped him. But when he spoke again, his croaky voice was soft and sad.

“Because I thought I saw something beautiful in you.”

Louis had no reply to that, merely put on a show of scoffing and sweeping out of the room. Once he was out of earshot, he took off down the hall and almost broke his neck stumbling downstairs. Time didn’t seem to pass as he saddled Gringolet and, finally, took off at a gallop into the woods.

 

[♛⚔♛⚔♛](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KXlMYb3tLpw)

 

The sun took a long time to set, being the longest day of the year. Louis sat in a clearing, picking flowers and stripping their stems absently, feeling his blood cool and remorse seeping into his bones. He wished he were different. He wished he hadn’t made a mess of everything.

“The woods are not a safe place for humans on Midsummer’s Eve, Louis of Doncaster," an ethereal voice sounded into the dim light, "They say that at midnight, all enchantments are lifted for sixty seconds, and all manner of monsters and wicked things roam the earth, unmasked in the dark."

He lifted his head to see the Lady of Avalon standing opposite him. She wore no cloak and hood tonight, and Louis was finally able to see her porcelain skin, her slender figure, her deep brown eyes, and most remarkably, that her long hair was constantly changing hues, from pale blue to deep brown to violet to gold and more.

“I’m capable of looking after myself,” Louis replied after a moment, and she smiled, sitting down in front of him. She looked very young, up close.

“I don’t doubt it.”

A moment of silence passed. Louis continued to pull up flowers, fiddling with them absentmindedly.

“Why are you not at the Midsummer celebrations?” she asked him softly. He sighed.

“I don’t think anybody wants me there.”

“Not even your husband? Is that for him?”

He looked down to where she gestured, and saw that without even noticing, he’d woven a flower crown. The realisation made a lump form in his throat.

“I suppose so,” he said thickly.

“You should go and see him.”

“Do you double as a soothsayer when you’re not threatening to eviscerate trespassers?” Louis bristled, but she only laughed.

“Something like that,” the Lady replied. “did you know that he is of Avalon, too?”

Louis let the flower crown fall from his grasp.

“Harry’s a faerie?” he asked in a flat tone.

“Yes. He was exiled around three years ago for dabbling in dark magic.”

“Dark magic? _Harry?”_

“It was accidental,” she insisted, a note of defensiveness creeping into her tone. “He was in the royal library and opened the wrong book, and a black spell leapt off the pages and into his body. Used to be be such an arrogant piece of work, thinking didn't have to listen to anyone, but he was just... young. But law is law, same as the one that demanded I execute your uncle.”

“Seems like a flawed way of running a place,” Louis mumbled, still reeling from the Lady’s revelation.

“It’s consistent, at least,” she sighed, standing up. “You should go and find him.”

“I can’t believe he’s a faerie.”

“From what I hear, you don’t have a problem with faeries,” she said slyly.

Louis glared at her.

“That’s rude.”

“But true.”

“This… Black spell? Why do you mention it?”

The Lady bit her lip.

“Because living bodies aren’t built to contain such magic for extended lengths of time, faerie or not. It’s been nearly three years since the spell made its home inside Harry. Does he sometimes get short of breath? Get tired easily?”

Louis’ blood ran cold.

“Yes. More so by the day.”

She let out a shaky breath and swallowed.

“I thought as much," she rasped, and Louis' heart froze in his chest at her next words. "He’s dying, Sir Louis. The spell is killing him.”

Louis leapt to his feet, towering over her.

“How do I save him? _Can_ I save him? Please, tell me how!”

She cast her eyes downward.

“I wish I could. But the nature of the spell’s counteract demands that it come from a place of truth, not necessity.”

“Oh good,” Louis snapped, “And here I was worried you’d come out with something vague and cryptic.”

The Lady sighed, but the corners of her mouth seemed to curl up ruefully.

"I can tell you that the black spell was designed to make its object unlovable. That's all."

"So, what? It's a dud curse and that's the big problem?" Louis shot back. "Because Harry isn't unlovable."

The Lady stared at him for a moment, and Louis shivered at the phantom sensation of his skin and armour being stripped away.

“Tell my brother the truth, and that I send my love.”

“ _Your brother--?”_

She disappeared in a flurry of leaves before he could get the strangled words out, rooted to the spot by the realisation that he had just been unwittingly interrogated by Harry’s big sister.

 

[♛⚔♛⚔♛](http://www.listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=R-sl2cJ6C7E)

 

The Midsummer celebrations were in full swing by the time he got back to Camelot, but Louis’ head was so full that he wasn’t feeling even a little bit festive. Bypassing his bashful-looking comrades, he made his way up one of the siege towers and onto his favourite stretch of battlements, looking out over the orange bonfires and colourful marquees erected on the castle green for the occasion. Music rose up on the warm breeze, mingled with laughter and voices, but it was peaceful up here. Peaceful, and pleasantly lonely.

So his fellow knights couldn’t stand him for the same reasons he thought they’d respect him. His husband was a cursed faerie at death’s door. He was a heartless bastard who had somehow inadvertently made a sister-in-law of the Lady of Avalon. Harry was a bloody  _faerie_. The thought spun round and round his mind as the night wore on, still beyond his full comprehension.

Just then, a series of chimes rang out into the night and a great cheer went up. Louis could hear the faint beginnings of the minute-long midnight pantomime of the court ladies dressed in hideous masks, hoping to be recognised and caught by their suitors before the time was up and another bell was rung, and remembered Gemma's warning about "monsters and wicked things".

The sound of footsteps startled Louis from his thoughts. He turned, irritated, but then his voice died in his throat.

A short way down from him stood the most beautiful creature Louis had ever seen in his life. Tall, broad and straight-backed, with narrow hips and legs that went on for miles, all arms and legs but solid. His skin was ivory in the moonlight, eyes drained of colour but wide and kind, underneath a strong brow and a head of thick, curly brown hair. He smiled at Louis, exposing a pair of dimples.

“Hello, Louis.”

He approached slowly, like someone might approach a spooked horse, eyes inviting. His full lips were mere inches away when Louis finally regained the presence of mind to step back.

“I’m sorry. No.”

The young man’s eyebrows drew together, mouth pushing into a kissable pout.

“What?”

“You’re… Well, gorgeous, but I’m married. I have a husband who…” he drew a deep breath, “Who I love very much.”

The stranger’s face smoothed into surprise.

“Oh?”

“Yes. Harry, the physician’s apprentice. I know he’s… Well, he’s not the easiest on the eyes,” Louis hated himself for saying it, even as gently as that, “But he’s kind. I know he’s got a good soul, and though he’s shy and a bit odd sometimes, he’s sort of wonderful, and he’s better than I probably deserve. So…” he suddenly felt embarrassed for admitting this all to a complete stranger, “No. I’m sorry, but I belong to someone else.”

The stranger stared at him mouth slightly agape, but before he could reply, the second bell chimed, and a chorus of laughter and cheers went up from below. The stranger’s hands flew up to his face and he wailed, startling Louis into lunging toward him.

“Don’t!” he cried, hands still covering his features, “Lou, don’t!”

Louis registered the nickname a split second after he recognised the engraved band on the stranger’s fourth finger. He reached up and gently took the hands in his own, bringing them down to clasp between them.

“ _Harry?_ ”

“I…” Harry swallowed thickly, looking everywhere but at Louis, expression anguished and hopeless. “I didn’t mean to deceive you or anything, I wasn’t expecting you to -- I just… Even for that one minute I wanted you to see—“

“Harry, you still look the same,” Louis interrupted, on the verge of bursting into irrational, overwhelmed laughter. Or tears. Or both. “You didn’t change back.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up, and one of his hands came back up to feel his own skin. Where it had once been pockmarked and loose, it was smooth with just a few freckles and moles that Louis wanted to press his lips to.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no sound came out. Louis had a hundred questions, but his mind settled on the one that had been pestering him for weeks. The one he now knew was the beginning of unravelling the mystery that stood between the two of them.

“Harry, what was the answer you gave Arthur to give to Gemma?”

Harry hung his head.

“She told you.”

“She found me in the woods because she was worried about you!” Louis replied reproachfully. “Harry, why didn’t you just _tell_ me?”

“Because if I’d told you, it might have ruined my chances of breaking the curse,” Harry said miserably. “Gemma chose that riddle _because_ of me. Because she hoped one of you would find me and break it.”

“You’re still not making any sense.”

“The answer to the riddle. What is it that lovers desire most, even if they don’t know it; it’s to be seen for what and all they truly are and loved for it in return. The same as the curse's counteract.”

Louis felt all his frustration leave him. Of course. If Louis had known that, he would have put two and two together and voided any chance of him truly loving Harry of his own volition. It would have been forced, or worse still, he might have resented Harry for--

“And I didn’t want to force you into marrying me, but I knew I only had a few weeks left at most, and the moment I met you I saw something in you I could love. That I do love,” he added with a tentative smile, and Louis' heart swooped to somewhere between his kidneys. “And I thought that even if it went wrong, you wouldn’t be stuck with me for long in any case, once the curse really sunk its claws into me. I didn't have much time left, unless you couldn't tell.”

“Harry…”

“And as time went on, I thought maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, because at least if I was dying, I was happy with you. Because you're sort of wonderful, too. You don’t see it, Lou, but I do. Or I hear about it from…" Harry’s face broke out in a wry smile. "... My sources."

“Harry,” Louis breathed again, but he barrelled on.

“And, God, I was hoping it'd be you. And maybe this works two ways, and that I needed to see you before you saw me, but… If you can forgive me for being so covert about it, I think this could be... You know, a forever sort of thing.”

Louis was lost for words. He wanted to say so many things. That he’d seen Harry’s beauty long before tonight. That he wished he’d told him every day. That he didn’t resent him for taking a chance on Louis to save his own life. That he didn’t deserve Harry’s praise or his love, but he’d take it anyway. But he couldn’t get the words out.

So he kissed him.

It felt like weeks of sharing a bed and learning each other’s breathing, the intimacy of sleeping in the same place without the passion of touching. It felt like clasped hands under the table at dinner and forehead kisses in the morning. It felt like slow melodies on the lute and the sting of a battle wound being bandaged. It felt like pine needles underfoot and campfire smoke in the air. It felt like coming home.

When they paused to breathe, giggling slightly as Harry rested his forehead against Louis’, Louis bit his lip.

“What is it?” Harry murmured in his newly rich, deep voice.

"I'm sorry. About what I said before," Louis rushed out in one breath, unable to meet Harry's eyes. "I didn't mean any of it, not a word."

"I knew that."

Harry leaned in again, but Louis resisted again, pressing a finger to Harry's lips.

“I want to ask you to come to bed with me, but I don’t want you to feel like I only love you now that you’re back to yourself,” Louis admitted, casting his eyes downward. He felt a finger under his chin, forcing him to look Harry in the eye once more.

“I don’t, I promise. I didn’t want to, either, while I was like that..." Harry gestured at himself. "It wasn’t my body, Lou. It would have felt all wrong. It _did_ feel all wrong.”

Louis managed a weak smile, before trailing his hands down Harry’s arms, twining their fingers together.

“Let me make it right, then.”

 

♛⚔♛⚔♛

 

They undressed one another slowly, with all the care of a wedding night but all the quiet passion of familiar lovers. Along the way, Harry found the slightly crushed flower tiara that Louis hadn’t realised he’d slipped into his pocket.

“What’s this?” he asked delightedly. Louis could see his eyes properly now, the same shade of green that his left one had always been. It was comforting that at least one part of him was the same.

“It was for you,” Louis grinned, taking it from Harry’s fingers and delicately placing it amongst his curls. He felt his cheeks flush, and Harry leaned into him with a smirk on his face.

“Would you like me to keep it on?” Harry mumbled into the skin under Louis’ ear. Louis nodded fervently, before gently pushing him down onto his back, stretched out on the sheets and for the first time, not looking self-conscious or embarrassed. Louis couldn't stop the smile that bloomed across his face, only widening when it was mirrored on Harry's own.

He made sure to pay Harry’s newly-restored body special attention, finding the strange fae symbols inked into the skin of his left arm and abdomen and pressing his mouth to them, sucking on them until Harry whined. He kissed up and down the column of Harry’s pale throat, ran his fingers along Harry’s ribs, gave his cock teasing licks as he opened him up with slick fingers. He was acutely aware that  _this_ was Harry's body, the one he felt at home in, the one that belonged to him and not the writer of some ancient spell. It would never be enough to touch every inch of it.

“Lou…” Harry panted over and over, running soft touches over Louis' face and through his hair, trembling as Louis' fingers curled just right and his mouth drove him to incoherence.

“Want you on top of me,” Louis breathed hotly into Harry’s ear once he’d made his way back up his body. Harry nodded frantically, wrapping an arm around Louis’ waist and flipping them, and though Louis would never admit it, he felt his cock twitch at being manhandled like that. Harry leaned down to press his mouth to Louis' hotly, running his hands over Louis' chest and neck and seemingly unable to touch him enough after fearing contact for so long. He let his fingers dance across Louis' scars, pressing his mouth to the silver lines and puckered ridges, every so often coming back up to kiss his mouth again.

Eventually, though, impatience got the better of both of them, and Harry sank down onto Louis slowly, his head thrown back and hands braced on Louis' thighs, and as Louis' eyes hungrily took in the stark patterns of ink across Harry's skin sheened in a light sweat, he thought that this was worth everything.

From then on it was tight heat and crushing grips, the sound of skin on skin and soft mewls and breathless cries into the dim light of their shared chamber.

The flower tiara slipped from Harry’s head somewhere along the way and the blue petals came away in the sheets, the stalks crushed by Harry’s fingers when he came with a deep sigh, muscles jumping and chest heaving before collapsing on Louis' chest. Seconds later, Louis followed, letting out a guttural moan into Harry’s neck. He dimly registered that they were both sweaty and sticky, and that he was still inside of Harry, but he couldn't will himself to care too much when his arms were full of this trembling, panting body.

“Love you,” Louis mumbled. “So much.”

“And I love you back.”

They lay entwined for a long time, finally side-by-side in their bed, faces level and trading sleepy kisses until they fell asleep.

 

♛⚔♛⚔♛

 

"Euch! Lou, keep it, it's all sweaty now!"

Louis made a show of pressing a messy, wet kiss to Harry's cheek, and was rewarded with an indignant cry and strong hands pushing him off. The grin remained on his face though, even when Harry mock-scowled at him, wiping his cheek with the favour that Louis had tried to return to him after winning the king's birthday joust.

"You're disgusting."

"You love me!"

"I love you in spite of your disgustingness," Harry mumbled, though his lips were curled up in a smile. "Now go and celebrate with your other metal-heads. I'm going to find Zayn and have a civilised, articulate drink."

"Oooh,  _articulate_ ," Louis mimicked wickedly, "I don't remember you being so articulate last night,  _"Lou, more Lou, yeah, please, your fucking tongue--!""_

"Alright, alright, you win," Harry hissed, looking round to see if they'd been overheard, which they hadn't; teasing aside, Louis knew that the physical side of their relationship was a strictly private matter for Harry. Though with his true appearance Harry had regained some confidence in initiating physical contact, he still seemed uncomfortable with public attention.

"That makes twice today!"

"Don't let your newfound popularity go to your head," Harry countered, tucking an errant strand of hair back into Louis' fringe fondly.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Louis replied. "Besides, I owe it all to my husband's good advice."

"Sounds like he's a keeper."

Louis pressed a smiling kiss to Harry's eager lips, before murmuring against them:

"He is."

Just then, Niall and Liam appeared, and Harry drew back swiftly.

"Tommo! That was brilliant!" Niall crowed, throwing an affectionate arm over Louis' shoulders. "Reckon Kai won't be showing his face on the field for a while after that. Knocked him right on his arse!"

"Now, Harry," Liam said, following suit on Louis' other side, "We understand that the two of you still have a lot of being domestic and adorable to catch up on--"

"--Among other things," Niall said in a cheeky undertone, and Louis elbowed him.

"-- But we'd like to take our victorious captain out for a celebratory drink. If that's alright with you."

Harry smiled at the three of them, tucking the favour back into his belt.

"Of course."

With that, he gave Louis a fleeting kiss on the corner of his mouth and waved a farewell to the others.

"You know, I still can't quite believe  _that's_ Harry," Niall said quietly as they watched him go. Louis shrugged.

"He's still the same. He just looks like himself now."

It had taken some explaining before the court and all of Harry's patients had got their heads around the idea that the Lovable Monster was now a strong, handsome young man. It had, of course, necessitated revealing that Harry was a faerie, which resulted in a fresh wave of jokes about Louis' proclivities, but he didn't really care what people thought about him anyway. 

"It's funny," Liam said quietly, and Louis and Niall turned to look at him.

"What is?"

"Well, Harry looks different, but he's still the same," he replied slowly, "And you look the same, Louis, but you're different."

The three of them stood pensively for a moment, each lost in his own thoughts, before Niall scoffed.

"You do talk some shite, Liam. Let's get drunk."

"Just a second!" Louis insisted, untangling himself from their arms. "I'll catch up with you, there's just something I have to do first."

"Five minutes!" Niall threatened, before disappearing behind a colourful tent, dragging Liam by the sleeve toward the castle gate.

Louis picked up the end of his battered lance, and gently slid the woven ring of daisies down to its tapered end, scuttling forward to pick it up. He'd proffered it to Harry in the stands at the beginning of the joust, and the wreath had been his real token of luck; a favour was just tradition, after all. He wove his way through the dispersing crown of onlookers, nodding at his well-wishers and finally spotting Harry chatting to Zayn by the stands. Sidling up to him unnoticed, he gently placed the daisy chain on Harry's head and pressed a smacking kiss to his ear, before whispering in his lowest voice:

"If you still have that on when I get back later, I promise you won't be sleeping much, tonight."

He felt Harry's body shudder almost imperceptibly against his, and saw an exasperated look flit across Zayn's face before disappearing into the crowd once more. He vaguely wondered if he'd be in trouble later for being so overtly suggestive in public.

Then again, Louis and Trouble were old friends, and if this life of his was the result of dancing with her time and again, well, he could be persuaded into one more volta.

 

♛⚔♛⚔♛

 


End file.
